Miss Andrews was silent. She could still see the waving crowd on the wharf, and the banners and kites.
“He must be at least a prince, with all that retinue.”
Miss Andrews, thinking rapidly of Aladdin and Marco Polo, of wives and concubines and strange barbarous ways, brought herself to say in a nearly matter-of-fact voice: “But those women all had natural feet. I don't understand.”
Miss Means reached for her Things Chinese; looked up “Feet,”
“Women,”
“Dress,” and other headings; finally found an answer, through a happy inspiration, under “Manchus.”
“That's it!” she explained; and read: “'The Manchus do not bind the feet of their women.'”
“Well!” Thus Miss Andrews, after a long moment with more than a hint of emotional stir in her usually quiet voice: “We certainly have a remarkable assortment of fellow passengers. That curious silent girl in the middy blouse.... traveling alone...”
“Remarkable, and not altogether edifying,” observed the practical Miss Means.